


A Chance Encounter

by threequarters



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-25
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threequarters/pseuds/threequarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the journey of life does not take us where we expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my lovely beta Tora.

"So I was thinking," Sherlock remarked, as they walked slowly down the street, side by side, "about taking in a concert tonight. The London Symphony is playing Mendelssohn which suits my mood perfectly right now. What do you say, would you be up for a little entertainment this evening?" he asked, glancing at John and raising an eyebrow.

  
The weather was still cool, but warmer than it had been the last few weeks. Spring was still a long way off, but John could feel the change, the days slowly getting longer. They'd celebrated a job well done and broken Sherlock's case-long fast at a small Indian place a few streets from their flat. Afterwards they had started rambling slowly in the direction of their flat, making idle chit-chat and enjoying the successful culmination of their current case. These were the rare moments John enjoyed the best. The in-between times, coming down from the adrenaline rush but before Sherlock's inevitable depression set in. 

  
"The symphony?" He pretended to think on it as they strolled past a row of shops with pavement displays. He'd learned quickly that it was best not to give Sherlock the satisfaction of a too-ready response. "Well I suppose I could be convinced..." He trailed off, as he caught sight of a familiar profile in the crowd of shoppers. His step stuttered briefly in surprise, but it was enough for Sherlock to notice.

  
"What is it? What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, picking up on John's distraction instantly.

  
"Nothing, let's um, let's go down here and walk up the other way," John suggested and grabbed his friend's arm. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled into the alley John was gesturing to and then stopped.

  
"What it is? Who are you avoiding?" Sherlock asked, refusing to follow John any further.

  
"Hmm? Nothing, no one. I uh, I just want to cut through here. We need a few things from the shop and this way is faster." Sherlock gave him an exasperated expression that said he really hoped John didn't expect him to buy that excuse.

  
"You're obviously avoiding someone, please don't insult my deductive abilities by claiming otherwise," he sighed, exasperated. "So who is it?"

  
John fidgeted and cursed himself. He could face down nameless men trying to kill him in a country far from home, but he couldn't last a few seconds under his friend's intense scrutiny. "It's nothing, it's no one," John said, looking just about everywhere but at Sherlock, who had leaned out of the alley and was examining the small group of shoppers clustered around the used book shop's street display. 

  
"I hardly think 'no one' would inspire such a reaction in you. Perhaps an ex-girlfriend?" He looked back at John and arched an eyebrow. Anyone else might have thought the question was asked with genuine curiosity. John knew better, he knew perfectly well he was being teased.

  
John glared at him. "There's no way you figured that out," he snapped.

  
"Oh it was quite easy really," Sherlock said airily.

  
"Yes, because you _guessed_," John accused.

  
"I never guess."

  
"_Yes_ you do."

  
"So who is she?" Sherlock continued, completely ignoring John's exasperated look.

  
John took a deep breath and let it out, defeated. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having. Not with Sherlock, not right now. Not _ever_ if he could avoid it. "No one. Not anymore. It's not important, can we please go?" John turned to set off down the alley, determined to end the conversation.

  
"Hmm...so a serious attachment. Clearly she broke it off..." Sherlock was back to looking out the alley, trying to discern which person was the topic of their conversation.

  
"Fine," John said, surrendering to the fact that Sherlock was not going to drop it any time soon. Suddenly it seemed easier just to say it then to watch Sherlock work through the messy tangle of his former love life. "Her name's Mary. Mary Morstan. We were engaged, back before I went to Afghanistan." Sherlock turned back from examining the crowd and fixed John with on of his long, searching looks that John had come to equate with surprise.

  
John did his best not to squirm under the scrutiny, preparing himself for the slew of deductions, or perhaps questions that was likely to follow. "Why..." Sherlock started, apparently going for the obvious first.

  
"Different goals I suppose you could say. I joined the Army. She didn't want to be a military wife, with all the pain and uncertainty. Worrying constantly. Turns out she was probably right." He gave a small self-deprecating chuckle. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and continued to stare at John for a few long moments. John just focused on the pavement to the right of his friend's feet.

  
Suddenly Sherlock went from calculating stillness to a flurry of quick, purposeful movements in a way that was still jarring to John, no matter how many times he experienced the transition. Sherlock pulled off his scarf and stuffed it in his pocket, loosening his collar.

  
"What are you-?"

  
"Hm? Nothing. Bit warm for a scarf is all. Come on John," Sherlock replied, grabbing John's wrist and pulling him out of the alley, back on to the street and in the direction of the throng of shoppers. Once they were out in the open John tried to twist his wrist out of Sherlock's iron grasp with no avail. Sherlock shot him a glance and his barely contained smirk sent a rush of fear to the pit of John's stomach. In one quick movement his strong fingers went from grasping John's wrist to entwined with John's own.

  
"Sherlock what on earth are you-"

  
"John?" said a voice from his right. He froze and turned slowly. Sherlock's hand tightened its hold. There stood Mary Morstan, every bit as lovely as she was in their university days, all bright eyes and soft curls. John had really been hoping to avoid any kind of meeting with her for at least a few more months. When he was healthier and, hopefully, more gainfully employed. When he could once again look in the mirror and see all he was, instead of all he was not.

  
"John, it _is_ you!" Mary said smiling broadly, "Oh it's so good to see you. Harry told me you were back in London." Her face clouded lightly, "she said you were injured..." 

  
Of course she did. John made a mental note to have some stern words with his sister.

  
"Mary. Hi." He tired his best to mirror her enthusiasm and what seemed to be genuine pleasure at their meeting. "I'm fine. Fine, thanks. How are-" John started, only to be cut off.

  
"Mary? Mary Morstan?" Sherlock asked, his brightest, most charming smile on his face. A smile that had never fooled John Watson. "I've heard so much about you. It's great to finally meet you." She glanced at Sherlock quizzically. "Sorry, sorry. Sherlock Holmes," he said, introducing himself. "I'm John's _roommate_."

  
Mary's eyes widened slightly and she glanced down at their joined hands then quickly back at John. John rolled his eyes and turned to glare at Sherlock. He almost choked at what he saw. In removing his scarf and loosening his shirt collar, Sherlock had made it very easy to see the angry red mark on his neck. A product, John knew, of spending hours on his violin during the course of their most recent case. Unfortunately Mary noticed it about the same time John did, and jumped to a much different conclusion. If possible her eyes got even bigger, before she quickly schooled her expression.

  
"It's good to meet you Sherlock," she recovered, quite nicely in John's opinion. Of course it wasn't enough to fool Sherlock, not by a long shot. Sherlock just stood there grinning innocently.

  
"So are you living in the area?" Mary went on, doing her best to carry the conversation, since John was apparently incapable of doing anything but stare incredulously at his roommate. 

  
"Yes, yes. We're over on Baker Street." He shook his head and pulled his eyes off of Sherlock and forced himself to focus on Mary. If she could make an effort, so could he.

  
She smiled, eyes darting over to Sherlock quickly and then back to John. "Nice. That's nice. Nice area."

  
"Yeah. Yeah it is. We're very happy," John said and mentally smacked himself. If he hoped to convince Mary things were _not at all_ what they looked like he was doing a lousy job of it. 

  
Sherlock, unbelievably, smiled even bigger. "Yes, yes we are," he said, squeezing John's hand and giving him a look of pride.

  
"Well good," Mary said, looking between the two of them again, implication clearly not lost on her. She always was a bright girl, John reflected ruefully. "_Good_. I mean it John, I'm glad you're happy." And as much as he badly wanted to give Sherlock a quick kick in the shins, her comment gave him pause. Because he was. He really was, whether it was for the reason she thought or not. He was happy here, in London, on Baker Street with his impossibly frustrating roommate. Maybe some days his shoulder throbbed, a constant painful reminder that somewhere along the line his life had derailed from its planned course, and maybe he was still struggling to bring in more money than went out, but it was never dull. He wasn't slipping in to the tedious mediocrity so many of his classmates had. He spared a brief moment of pity for Stamford.

  
"Thanks Mary. Really, thank you." He smiled, this time letting it reach his eyes. She smiled back.

  
"Well I suppose I'll see you both around then? Take care. It was nice to see you John and good to meet you Sherlock." She gave John one last earnest smile and turn back to her shopping.

  
"Take care!" Sherlock called over his shoulder as they strolled away.

  
"Okay, _ow_, you can let go of my hand now!" John said, shaking his hand loose from Sherlock's grip. His friend, he realized, was doing his best to contain his laughter and failing miserably. "You are something else, you know that right?" John asked, faintly accusing.

  
"Oh yes, I'm well aware," Sherlock said, struggling to get his chuckling under control. "So," he said, taking a deep breath and refocusing on their previous conversation, "as I was saying, symphony?"

  
John pretended to consider the offer. "All right," he replied, and gave his friend a small grin. In another day or so Sherlock would be back in his between-case funk, and it would take all of John's patience not throttle him. But for now, everything was okay.

  
Sherlock grinned back, a real one this time, and hooked his arm through John's as they set off home.


End file.
